


My Favourite Book

by LaBelladoneX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After that it's time for bed, And a Shag, Argentinian Merlot cures all, Balconies and grappling hooks, Betcha Brad Pitt caught your attention, Bodice-Ripper, Dean Thomas' cock is nobody's business, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, F/M, Happy Ending, I still hate Seamus Finnigan, James Bond References, Ministry of Magic lifts are not safe, NeverNightX, Polyjuice Potion, Sex While Using Polyjuice Potion, Strictly Dramione - Valentine's Day Fest 2021, Tom Felton - the beach bum years, Velology, Who doesn't love a bit of mutual pining?, You can read chapters 1 and 2, you read it here first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX
Summary: What do two Slytherins, a Gryffindor, a Time-Turner, and a vat of Polyjuice have in common? No? Well, let’s just say they have the power to make Blaise Zabini a very, very satisfied wizard, Dean Thomas a wealthy one, and Draco Malfoy even more in love with Hermione Granger than ever before.This story also reveals the identity of Draco’s favourite book. Any ideas what it might be? Let me give you some clues, okay? It’s not to be found in the libraries of Malfoy Manor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or Sunnydale High School. You also won’t find it at the Bodleian Library at Oxford or The Yale University Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. Nor can it be located in the home improvements or large print sections of your local libraries. But you might just find it sitting behind a desk on Level One of the British Ministry of Magic, pining away, and wishing Seamus Finnigan would just drop dead.Written for Strictly Dramione’s Valentine’s Fest 2021
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 34
Collections: Strictly Dramione - Valentine’s Day Fest 2021, The Dramione Collection





	1. In which Blaise has an idea, Dean makes a deal, and Draco wishes he could just finish his bloody book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeverNightX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverNightX/gifts).



> I’ve taken some liberties with this story — “Doesn’t she always?” I hear you say — regarding the topic of Time-Turners. I didn’t go by the plot outlined in The Cursed Child which sees Theodore Nott improve the devices, but rather with my idea that, although they were ‘destroyed’ during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries in 1996, Fred and George Weasley rebuilt them with modifications at a later date.  
> The inspiration for this story comes from the Milk Tray chocolate advertisements which date back to a time before the majority of you were born, unlike me who remembers most of them. Note I stated ‘most’, not ‘all’. You can still catch them on YouTube, but they’re pretty dated now.  
> Also, despite the dates, everyone is still in their twenties, fit, virile, and flexible.  
> For those of you who have an interest in the language of flowers, may I present a bouquet of dark pink roses to my beta Elle Morgan-Black, alpha Persefone, and an arrangement of white camellias to my best friend coyg_81.  
> Prompts included:  
> If I see one more pink bear today, I’ll bloody well decapitate it.  
> I am way too sober for this.  
> You smile like an idiot when you're talking to her.
> 
> For NeverNightX - my girl x

**Somewhere in the bowels of the British Ministry of Magic, London**

**Friday, 12th January 2018**

“Dean, my man!” 

Quirking an eyebrow, Dean Thomas stopped in front of the lift doors that were slowly opening far down inside the Ministry of Magic, a sub-level beyond the Department of Mysteries. Hearing Blaise Zabini calling out his name and running towards him certainly was a surprise. Whether it was going to be a welcome one was yet to be decided.

He turned around slowly. “Wow, Zabini. You make it sound like we’re friends.” 

_“Sciocchezze!”_ The Italian laughed, stopping beside Dean and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Absolute rubbish! I’m besties with Theo, who’s shagging Potter, who’s practically joined at the hip to Weasley, whose sister is that divine fiery goddess that has your cock in a twist. We’re practically family, si? Going up?”

He flicked his wand to keep the lift doors open.

Dean rolled his eyes, although he could feel the corners of his full lips rise in amusement. 

“My cock is none of your business.”

“Aah! But it’s most definitely the business of Ginevra Weasley. Don’t you dare deny it!”

“I won’t,” Dean replied, shrugging Blaise’s arm off. “But it’s still none of _yours._ What are you doing all the way down here anyway? _”_

Few knew of this area within the Ministry’s lower levels. Since introducing modern technology to the department-store-turned-impressive-governmental-building, Dean and his fellow Muggle-borns ran the computer systems that brought the British Ministry of Magic into the twentieth century. 

They hadn’t exactly reached the twenty-first yet; there was still a long way to go.

“I’ve come up with an idea for a… what do you call it? A website?”

The two wizards stepped into the lift and reached for the handrails, bracing themselves for the violent jolt that would send anyone sprawling across the floor if they didn’t hold on tight enough.

“And why is the Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation coming to me about a website?” Dean asked, his free hand smacking against the lift door for extra support. “Don’t you have minions to do that for you?”

“Si, I do… usually,” Blaise agreed, stumbling as the lift continued its homicidal ascent. “Let’s just say this website is more of a personal nature. And I’m willing to cut you in.”

“How much?” 

Dean Thomas. Straight talker.

“Ten percent.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fifteen.”

“Nope.”

The lift suddenly came to a crashing halt, causing both wizards to tumble to the ground, Blaise’s face landing directly on top of Dean’s crotch. 

“And here I thought Ginevra was the only one to make your lion roar.”

“Get off me, arsehole!” Dean scooched backwards out of Blaise’s way. “What the fuck is wrong with the lifts now?”

Before Blaise could answer, an official-sounding voice caught their attention. 

“All lifts and moving staircases have been halted due to the discovery of a rogue Niffler. Please check your valuables immediately and remain at your desks until further notice. For anyone stuck in a lift or on a staircase, copies of this month’s staff magazine, _Ministry Moments_ , featuring an in-depth interview with velologist, Malachy Butterworth, will be distributed to you shortly. Please open in a safe environment due to the explosive free gift. Thank you.” 

“What the fu—”

Dean rolled his eyes. “He’s my cousin,” he moaned. “Easily the most boring fucker on the planet. He collects expired tax discs from Muggle cars.”

Blaise’s blank expression said it all. “Well there’s no way I’m reading about _him_ for the next fuck knows number of hours. How about I tell you all about my idea and see if I can persuade you to come on board?”

“Keep your face away from my cock and I’ll think about it,” Dean replied.

* * *

**Office of the Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Level Five**

**Tuesday, 12th January 2021 (three years later)**

**Now, don’t panic. All will be explained in due course...**

“Blaise, got a minute?” Draco Malfoy stepped into his best friend’s office and shut the door behind him with his foot, an open Muggle diary in one hand, a Montblanc fountain pen in the other. 

“Anything for my favourite wizard from the Department of Mysteries who still won’t tell me what he actually does all the way down there on Level Nine. What’s up, amico?”

“Schedule for this weekend,” Draco replied, preparing to sit on the couch just inside the door but changing his mind at the last minute. Let’s just say Blaise was very sociable, and Draco didn’t trust his post-coital cleansing charms. 

“Right. You’ve got a Potter on Friday night, another on Sunday, a Thor — the Hemsworth one — on Saturday at 3pm, a Hercule Poirot — the one from Murder on the Orient Express 1974 — on Monday at 6pm, and a… oh, fuck me, no!”

Blaise jumped up and walked around to the front of his desk. “What is it?” he asked quickly, his eyes widening. “Please don’t tell me it’s another Finnigan. I’ll throw up.”

“It’s worse.” Draco leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath. “Far, far worse.”

“Well don’t keep me in fucking suspense, Draco! Who the fuck is it?”

“My father.”

“Excuse me?”

“My father. 8pm, Saturday. Miss Felicity Dankworth, 17 Forsythia Drive, Dorking. ‘Please ensure blond hair remains unbound and snake fangs on cane are sharpened.’”

“Holy fuck! Felicity Dankworth sounds delightful,” Blaise remarked, leaning back against his desk. “Lucius is in for a spanking good time!”

Draco blanched. “Please, I feel sick.”

“Mate, you should take me up on my offer and get more involved. You’re guaranteed a shag, the client gets what they want, and we make lots of money. It’s a win-win-win for us and Dean.”

“If I want a shag, as you so politely put it,” Draco snapped, “I’ll do it on my own terms. Not Polyjuiced to fuck and pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m happy to help run this escort agency, Blaise, but I’ll only organise the bookings and source the hair. So stop asking me; you won’t change my mind.”

“We’ll see,” his friend quipped, retrieving his wand from his pocket and flicking it in midair. A roll of parchment instantly unfurled itself between the two wizards. “Since I’m to be Lucius, I’ll need a few strands of his hair anyway. I’m running low on Potter, completely out of Defence Against the Dark Arts Dumbledore, and Brad Pitt around the time of _Meet Joe Black._ Also, if you can get me Britney Spears that would be great. Just make sure it’s anytime before she shaved her head.”

Draco nodded, taking notes as Blaise read out his requests. “I got an enquiry about Tom Felton, the beach bum years, preferably around the time of _Ophelia_.”

“Fuck that!” Blaise shook his head, his hands moving as if to push some invisible force away from him. “Absolutely not! Tell them they can have him as Erich Blunt and a free bottle of Champagne. Otherwise, no deal.”

“Fair enough,” Draco conceded, “but, personally, I’d suggest the black and white image of him with the glasses and the tailored suit.”

“Oh, yeah, I know the one,” Blaise agreed. “The one we call the Professor Malfoy look, right? Yeah, go with that. And skip the Champagne.”

“Cheapskate.”

“Whatever. Champagne or no, at least I’m getting laid.” A raised eyebrow and a knowing look in Draco’s direction said a lot.

“Leave it, Blaise. My personal life has nothing to do with this.”

“This? No. Me? Yes. I’m your best mate, Draco, and I fucking hate seeing you pining after Granger and doing nothing about it. Why don’t you just ask her out and see what happens? Or are you determined to live the rest of your miserable privileged life in love but lonely?”

“I’m not—”

“ You smile like an idiot when you're talking to her . You smile like an idiot when you’re talking _about_ her. You smile like an idiot when you’re in the same room as her. You—”

“Okay, okay! I like her—”

“Fuck that! You don’t _like_ her, Draco. You’ve been in love with Hermione Granger since we were in school and you’re too fucking chicken to do anything about it.”

“She deserves better than me,” Draco muttered. “She deserves someone with a clean past and no demons.”

“Oh, really? Like who? Finnigan? I hear he’s been sniffing around her all the way up there in the Minister’s offices. The things that occur on Level One that we don’t know anything about, eh?”

“Fuck you. I’m off to get some of Father’s hair for you,” Draco spat, grabbing the door handle. Swinging the door open with force, he spun around to glare at his best friend. “I love you, mate, but mention Granger again and I’ll make sure your next Polyjuice has Filch hair in it. Extra strength.”

* * *

**Soooo if you spent the last few minutes reading this fic and asking yourselves what the fuck is going on…**

**Remember when the lift broke down? Well, now’s the time for an explanation…**

“So let me get this straight,” Dean began, readjusting himself on the floor of the stationary lift. An hour had passed and he’d spent the entire time sitting on his free copy of _Ministry Moments_ whilst listening to the reasons why Blaise Zabini wanted his help. “You want to start an escort agency online, with you as the escort, using Polyjuice to turn into whatever witch, wizard, or Muggle the client requests from any point in time, right? And you plan to do all of this with only a Time-Turner, Malfoy taking charge of the bookings and hair collecting, and me setting up and maintaining the website?”

Blaise grinned. “Yep.”

“And you want to cut me in for what? Fifteen percent? Yeah, I don’t think so, Zabini.”

“Twenty?”

The silence in the lift was only masked by the fluttering leaves of the magazine under Dean’s arse. Blaise had already ripped his own copy to shreds, taking care to avoid blowing up the free gift.

“Ugh! Alright! Twenty-five.”

Dean thought for a moment. “I’d be mad not to see how this works. Looks like you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Blaise proffered his hand, a wide grin on his handsome features. “Eccellente! Only other thing I need from you is an Unbreakable Vow that this arrangement stays between us.” 

“No problem there,” Dean agreed as the wizards shook on the success of their new partnership.

“Now all we have to do is persuade Draco to join us. Oh, and call me Blaise. We’re definitely family now.”

🎔

It was essential that Draco come onboard with Blaise’s idea, solely because he owned an unlicensed Time-Turner. The devices, although no longer obsolete and working perfectly well thanks to various modifications patented by Fred and George Weasley, were ridiculously expensive, and potential buyers had to sign multiple application forms and provide DNA, urine, and favourite wallpaper samples in order to obtain one of the Time-Turners that only went back a few hours. Imagine what had to be provided to go back a few years! It just wasn’t worth the effort.

The one belonging to the Malfoy family was hidden within the walls of the Manor for many years, completely overlooked by the Dark Artifact-seeking Aurors who raided the estate many times after the Battle of Hogwarts. Blaise knew of its existence due to a very relieved and rather drunken Lucius revealing its location one celebratory night after “those bureaucratic goons” failed to locate his hidden stash of Muggle porn. 

It seemed Malfoy Manor had more hidden gems than a safe at Cartier’s.

Getting Draco on board with his plan was going to require a different tack, Blaise figured. Setting the Niffler loose in the Ministry, knowing the little troublemaker would cause a complete workplace shutdown, and timing his interaction with Dean to coincide with a lift stopping between floors — therefore rendering the computer whiz a captive audience — was, Blaise considered, a stroke of pure Slytherin genius. 

Draco was a completely different kettle of plimpies. He would require financial projections, astral projections, globular projections, frontal and rear projections, and maybe a Venn diagram. Ever the entrepreneur, and a Malfoy through-and-through, he was not going to be so easily convinced.

No. Way. Blaisé.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor later that night, following a day of shopping for bribes...**

Yeah, it’s not easy. But a case of Ogden’s Rarest Centennial Edition Firewhisky (1900, not 2000), two boxes of Draco’s favourite biscuits — Salon Le Mesnil Champagne, ‘Cherry Red’ rhubarb, and homemade custard digestives by deVillier of Scunthorpe — and tickets to see their favourite Viking death metal band in Oslo the following month, however, were under Blaise’s arm when he stepped through the Manor’s fireplace with a cry of, “Mate, I have an idea!” 

Draco looked up from his book, irritated that Blaise had interrupted his precious reading time. Being an Unspeakable didn’t allow him the luxury of a regular nine-to-five position in the Ministry so, finding a few hours free, he’d settled himself by the fire in the Manor’s library with a thriller he’d been dying to read for ages. Why in the name of all that is magical did he not think to shut his Floo and forget about the outside world for a while?!

That was another thing Draco and Hermione had in common — their love of books. All kinds. Every genre. No book went unread. And to abandon a book midway, even if it was an unbearable read, was next to a mortal sin. Some evenings Draco would sit in the library on his own, picturing Hermione in the chair opposite, sipping a firewhisky with him, and discussing their favourite authors or the books they’d most recently read. To him that would be heaven. 

To talk about his favourite book with Hermione would mean everything to him. 

This evening, however, he was subjected to Blaise Zabini, his arms filled with various objects, and a look of pure mischievousness in his dark eyes. Ignoring his best friend for a few moments, Draco carefully replaced his leather bookmark within the pages of the book he doubted he’d get back to anytime soon, and placed it gently on the table beside his drink. 

“I was just getting to the good part,” he moaned at Blaise. 

“Pfft. It was the butler,” Blaise answered as he dropped the contents of his arms on top of Draco’s precious book. “It always is.”

“What are— DON’T put those things down on my books, Blaise! There’s a bloody table not two feet away from you!”

“Merlin, you and your books. I swear you love them more than me.”

“I do.”

* * *

**Approximately 57 minutes later**

“And there you have it, amico,” Blaise announced, sitting back in the leather wingback opposite Draco. “That’s the plan.”

The crackle of burning embers was almost drowned out by the deafening silence that followed his pitch. He swore he could hear his own eyelashes clashing against each other as he blinked. 

_“Well?”_

Draco’s pensive stare into the fireplace lasted a few seconds longer although, to Blaise, it felt like hours. He needed his best friend on his side for this. Worst case scenario, he’d approach Lucius directly but figured Draco’s father would want to take part in the action rather than ‘administration and procurement.’ 

Lucius Malfoy was certainly living the dream of the not-so-young, free, and single these days, Narcissa having left him for Charlie Weasley a few years previously. 

“Have you thought about protection, Blaise?”

“Well, I’m not fond of condoms but—”

“No, you arse!” Draco frowned, looking over at his friend. “Proper protection, should any spell go wrong or the client get too physical etc. _That_ kind of protection.”

“Mate, I’m a wizard,” Blaise smugly replied, holding his hand out straight to magically reveal a set of pink leather handcuffs. “Any shit, I’m out of there faster than Lavender Brown’s tits after a few cocktails.”

“There’s a sight I never want to see again.” Draco shuddered. “What about discretion? How do you propose to keep my very illegal Time-Turner a secret _and_ stop clients from talking about this service in such a way that draws attention?”

“You’ll be the one operating the Time-Turner only so it won’t leave here. That way no-one will be alerted to its use. Regarding discretion, a charm on the booking form will ensure clients can’t speak about us to anyone. I’ll leave them with a calling card they can pass on, but anyone in possession of that card can only use it to make a booking. No verbal communication can take place and, if whoever has the card wants to try to investigate us or do anything other than make a booking, well… let’s just say it won’t be pleasant. Isn’t magic just brilliant?” 

“And returning clients?”

“If I want to shag them again, I’ll make sure they can continue to use the online booking. If not, they get the card with the _instructions_ to pass it on before I Obliviate them. Nicely, of course.”

“And you’re sure you can _keep up_ the good work every weekend, yeah?” Draco raised an unbelieving eyebrow. “As soon as work finishes on Friday you’ll have an appointment, followed by two more on both Saturday and Sunday. Not to mention the fact that you’re relying on me to source the hairs required for each escort.”

Blaise waved his hand nonchalantly. “Not a problem. I trust you to get it right each time. As for keeping it up… let’s just say I’ve never had a problem in that area. My weekends have always been full. If our first lot of appointments go well, I’ll continue working during the week as well. Long term? Ciao, Ministry. Helllloooo, good times! The way I look at it, I’m just taking a… hobby, if you will, and hopefully making us quite a lot of money from it.”

“Merlin, I’m going to make money from your cock.”

“Well, yeah. And Dean.”

“I’m going to make money from Dean’s cock?”

“No, fucker. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah. I have a few more questions before I sign on the dotted line.”

“Bene,” Blaise agreed. “Have at it.”

Draco summoned the bottle of firewhisky they were working their way through from the mantle and refilled their glasses. “Are you taking female clients only? What happens if the client is… em… not exactly to your liking? And will clients be checked in advance for medical issues? Wouldn’t do to be shut down in the first week because some desperate Muggle housewife has given you — what do they call it? — a clap?”

“Well,” Blaise began, nodding his head in thanks, “don’t you think I’d be missing out if I didn’t use my bisexuality to the best of its ability? And, if the client happens to be fugly, I’ve perfected a charm that makes me see the stars of my nightly wanks, Charlotte Bailiwick and Jason Isaacs—”

“Charlotte Bailiwick?” Draco interrupted. “The writer for the Daily Prophet?”

“The one and only. Mate, the tit—”

“Yes, yes, okay. I get it, thank you. I know Charlotte well, and the next time we meet, I do _not_ want to be thinking of her… eh... body _or_ picturing you with your hand around your cock! She’s a friend, and I’d like her to stay that way. And who the fuck is Jason Isaacs?”

“Oh, man… lui è bellissimo,” Blaise gushed, much to Draco’s discomfort. “Haven’t I mentioned him before? The Muggle actor? Stars in this series of movies where he wears a long, blond wig… Merlin! I swear he makes your old man look like Trelawney. The body, the eyes… and the hair. Fuuuuck! Long, long wavy hair you want to grip while you’re—”

“Merlin, enough!” Draco threw up a hand to stop the ‘fanboying’. When the long, wavy hair in a tight grip was mentioned, his thoughts immediately went to a certain witch and his stomach clenched violently. “I really don’t want to know.”

Blaise laughed heartily at his friend’s discomfort. “Okay, okay. I’ll say no more. But, to answer your final question, I’ll be casting a protection charm to cover all potential problems before I arrive at the client’s address and double-checking for any other _issues_ before we get down to the dirty. Draco, I have it all worked out. Trust me.”

“Hearing you say _trust me_ makes me not want to trust you at all,” Draco replied. “But you’ve come up with crazier ideas over the years, and they all seem to have worked out… in some way.”

“Well, I will admit pitching my pussy flavoured ice-cream to Florean Fortescue wasn’t the best move,” Blaise admitted. “But it’s on the menu at Pansy’s club and seems to be a big hit.”

“I’m still in shock that anyone would order a pussy with extra cream,” Draco laughed, “but that’s what I heard the last time we went in for drinks. So I’ll give you that.”

“And my newest idea?” Blaise pushed.

“Is, no doubt, going to be a huge success.” Draco held up his glass. “I’d be mad not to get involved. Do you want me to consent to an Unbreakable Vow?”

Blaise shook his head. “I cast one with Dean, he’s a Gryffindor after all. Although we hadn’t a witness present so we used his cousin who was in the Ministry magazine. I’m sure it’s up to scratch. He can only speak about all of this to you, me, and Ginny, but I made him swear he’d be extremely economical with the truth when it came to her. As for you and me? Mate, we’re Slytherin, best friends, and I’m pretty sure if I killed someone, you’d help me bury the body with no questions asked. We don’t need any vows.”

“I feel we should hug but I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Draco replied, quickly moving his head to the side and laughing as he narrowly avoided the jinx Blaise threw at him. “But, thanks. It means a lot. Just one thing, though. What are you planning to call this new venture of ours?”

Blaise grinned. “I’m thinking ‘Soif de Vie’ avec Baron La Croix, je veux te faire jouir.”

“Lust for life?”

“With Baron La Croix.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“The Voodoo spirit of sexuality…”

“Ah, okay.”

“...and the dead.”

“Oh.”

“But the tagline’s a good one.”

“I want to make you come?”

“Does exactly what it says on the tin, right?”

“Right.”


	2. In which Dean is vague, Ginny is helpful, and Hermione has a terrible taste in wizards (not counting Draco, of course)

**At the bar of ‘The Wicked Witch’, Pansy Parkinson’s magical jazz club, Cleo Lane, Richmond, London (In her own words: “Who fucking cares what my club is called?”)**

**Wednesday, 3rd February 2021**

“If I see one more pink bear today, I’ll bloody well decapitate it.” 

Hermione slammed her handbag down on the counter and grabbed the drink Ginny Weasley had waiting for her. 

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like the build-up to Valentine’s Day, Hermione?” Ginny quipped. “All that pink… all the romance in the air… all the—”

“Shut up right now or you’ll be wearing this drink!”

Ginny raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” she laughed. “I won’t say another word about Valentine’s Day coming up, _or_ the fact that it’s been so long since you’ve actually _had_ sex, your virginity has done a U-turn and is on its way back to Hermione central.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“So, I suppose I should ask,” Hermione continued, “has Dean organised that Valentine’s weekend he was talking about?”

Ginny’s eyes lit up. “He has! But he won’t tell me where we’re going. All I know is I’ve to pack light.”

“Maybe he’s taking you to the beach,” Hermione replied, her expression of pure innocence ruined by a sudden burst of laughter. 

“Fuck that!” Ginny snorted into her drink. “Packing light had better mean no clothes and lots of sex.”

“This is Dean we’re talking about. And since you have no qualms in discussing your sex life in graphic detail with me, I’m already convinced your weekend will consist of no clothes and lots of sex.”

“It will, won’t it?” Ginny grinned. “Satisfaction totally guaranteed for me.”

Hermione began to reply but her best friend held up one hand to stop her and slid a silver envelope across the bar with the other. 

“What’s this?” Hermione asked instead.

“A gift.”

“For me?”

“Yes. And you have to use it before Valentine’s Day. In fact, your first appointment is this Saturday night. I took the liberty of booking it because I figured you wouldn’t. All you need to do is complete the application form online.”

Looking confused, and slightly apprehensive upon hearing Ginny’s words, Hermione examined the silver envelope before opening it. 

“It won’t bite,” Ginny pressed. “Go on.”

Inside was a silver calling card with black print. It was quite plain at first glance, usually gift vouchers for spas or hairdressing salons were quite fancy and full of unnecessary glitter. And this was a gift voucher for something like that. Wasn’t it?

“‘Em… ‘Soif de Vie’ avec Baron La Croix, je veux te faire jouir,” Hermione read out loud before looking up at Ginny. “Lust for life?”

“With Baron La Croix,” Ginny continued.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“The Voodoo spirit of sexuality…”

“Ah, okay.”

“...and the dead.”

“Oh.”

“But the tagline’s a good one.”

“I want to make you come?”

“Does exactly what it says on the tin, right?”

“Right.”

Hermione thought for a moment. 

Ginny waited. 

Hermione continued to think. 

Ginny ordered two more drinks. 

“HOLY FU—” Hermione gasped. “I mean… _holy fuck_. What the hell have you done, Ginevra Weasley? This is a… this is a… a… Merlin, this is an appointment with a… prostitute!”

She mouthed the last word so no-one around would hear. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione,” Ginny replied, trying to stave off the need to laugh at her friend’s shocked response. “The business sells itself as a high-class agency which provides an intimate service to those who wish to avail of unattached and unforgettable sex. I read the brochure. It’s not what you—”

“Have you…”

“Fuck, no! I’m perfectly besotted, thank you very much.”

“Then how… how did you hear of this place?” Hermione asked, waving the card in Ginny’s direction. 

“I wanted to do something special for you, and I _may_ have asked Dean for help in coming up with an idea. He suggested Baron La Croix.”

“And how in Circe’s name does Dean know this _baron?”_

“Said he knew one of the guys involved. That’s all I know, he was very vague,” Ginny replied. “Seriously, Hermione, they’re booked up almost a year in advance so they must be good. Dean managed to get me this Saturday’s appointment for you and all I know is he called in a few favours. Don’t ask me what. Like I said, he was very vague.”

Hermione bit her lower lip and stared at the card that remained in her hand. 

“Look,” Ginny said, reaching over to cover Hermione’s hand with her own. “I love you, Hermione. I hate that you’re lonely — no, don’t say you’re not. I know you are. I want you to feel what I feel, okay? I want you to be in love and blissfully happy. I want to see you smile and know it’s real. A smile that lights up your eyes. There’s only one person I know who makes your eyes sparkle and I know you’ll go to your grave with your feelings for that person firmly locked away inside.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “How long have you known?” she asked quietly.

“Since school. I figured you’d either tell me at some stage, or you wouldn’t. But each relationship or fling you’ve had has died because _every_ wizard who’s asked you out is not him — Viktor, Ron, Terry, and not forgetting the rather forgettable Cormac. Am I right?”

“S’pose…”

“And now a little birdie tells me Seamus Finnigan is sniffing around your desk?”

“Yep.”

“And you’d love to go out with him?”

“Nope.”

“Ever?”

“Never.”

“Because…”

“Because…”

_“Because…”_

“Because he’s Seamus Finnigan. I mean, need I say more?”

_“And?”_

Hermione sighed; Ginny was not going to give up until her secret was admitted out loud. “Because he’s not him.”

“Because he’s not who?”

“Fuck! I am way too sober for this.”

“Admit it out loud and I’ll get you drunk. _And_ help you fill out the online application.”

Hermione knocked back the rest of her drink and shoved the empty glass in Ginny’s direction. “Because he’s not Draco Malfoy. None of them are.”

“Good girl. Now, the doubles are on me.”

* * *

**Hermione’s apartment, Kirstie Alley, Kingston-Upon-Thames**

**Many doubles later**

Sipping her tea, Hermione quickly read through the introduction on the Soif de Vie website. Normally she’d study everything in anal detail but the alcohol Ginny kept buying her had eventually calmed her a little. Not much, but enough to agree to complete the online application form. 

_Thank you for booking blah, blah, blah…_

_Pleasure… beyond your wildest dreams… pleasure… sexual desires…_

_Whoever you want me to be… your deepest fantasies…_

_Any time… wizard, witch, or Muggle…_

_No-one has to know…_

_It can be our little secret…_

_Secret…_

_Secret…_

“I don’t understand,” Hermione commented, glancing over at Ginny who was curled up on the couch, her own tea cupped in her hands. “Is this a wizarding site or not?”

“Wizarding, of course,” Ginny replied. “What are you confused about?”

“How does it work?”

“You choose whoever you want to shag. You can have anyone you want.”

“Are they _Imperioused?”_

“Merlin, Hermione! Does it matter how it works? Just jot down the name of the person you’d like to turn up when it’s time for your appointment, spread your legs, and think of England.”

“But it won’t really be them, will it?”

“No, it’s whoever is sent by the company. I don’t know how many people work there. Dean didn’t say much; he was very vague.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“He really was. You’d think he was under a spell or something. Anyway, doesn’t matter. The person you choose, be they magic or Muggle, alive or dead, is traced and cloned via the Polyjuice process. Cool, isn’t it?”

“So the company uses Polyjuice and Time-Turners.”

“I guess.”

“Now _you’re_ being very vague, Ginny.”

“Am I?” 

“You’re lucky I’m too drunk right now. Otherwise, I’d run a mile from this. I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

“Of course you will.”

Hermione delayed reading further by sipping more tea. What if she filled out the form to keep Ginny happy then cancelled the next day once the interfering bane of her life had gone home? It wouldn’t matter what she filled in then, right? Circe, why didn’t she think of that earlier?! 

“Best get this form filled up then.”

Ginny leaned forward to watch the computer screen. “Hell, yeah!”

_Please provide your full name, address, and a contact email address._

_Eartha Bailiff_

Ginny spat her tea all over her dress. “Who the fuck is Eartha Bailiff?”

“Me, of course,” Hermione replied. “What? You think I’m actually going to give my real name? Way to tell the wizarding world I’m not getting any.”

“But _Eartha Bailiff!_ Could you not think of a better name? I mean it’s going to be really romantic to have a clone of Draco Malfoy whispering, ‘Oh, Eartha, I want to lick your pussy’, in your ear, right?”

“How do you—”

“Oh, come on! Who are you going to choose? Gilderoy Lockhart?”

“Well, I could choose a Muggle, couldn’t I? Oh… how about Keanu Reeves when he was in _Speed_ , or Alexander Skarsgård, David Beckham… Brooklyn Beckham? Meh! His tattoos are crap. What about Perttu Kivilaakso?”

“Are you still speaking English?”

“Finnish.”

“Whatever,” Ginny scoffed. “You know as well as I do the only person you’re going to choose is Draco Malfoy. This is your chance.”

“But it won’t be the same,” Hermione argued, before taking a deep breath and reminding herself that her application was going to be cancelled the next morning. “Yeah, you’re right. Draco it is.”

They turned back to the computer screen. “What about your home address? Or your email address?” Ginny pointed out. 

“Simple. I’ll quickly make up a false Google account under the new name… won’t take a moment…” Hermione sang whilst typing away. 

“Oh, look. No-one else has the name Eartha Bailiff. How convenient for you.”

“Fuck off. Now, as for the address, I’ll use the cottage in Wookey Hole.”

A few years earlier Hermione had found a small fairytale cottage on the grounds of an old manor house she’d gone to visit. The owners were so taken with her, they agreed to let her rent the cottage on a long term lease and offered access to their extensive library anytime she travelled down to Somerset for a break. The cottage’s single bedroom was under a large sloping roof with French doors leading out onto a small balcony and the interior looked like it came straight from the pages of a romance novel, perfect for the encounter she was booking... and cancelling.

“Ah, cool. Hardly anyone knows about that, “ Ginny admitted.

“Exactly. And it’s got a small balcony so it’s perfect.”

Ginny frowned. “What’s so special about your balcony?”

“Don’t you read spy romances? Have you seen the old advertisements for chocolates? ‘And all because the lady loves Milk Tray’?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well I do and the balcony is key.”

Hermione gave herself a mental pat on the back. Yeah, all angles covered. And a simple tap of the _cancel_ option the next morning and normality would resume. 

_Please provide the name of the person you wish to have ‘entertain’ you._

_Draco Malfoy_

_Do you have any unusual requests, or are there any areas of sexual relations you wish to avoid?_

_I’d like ‘Mr Malfoy’ to wear a tuxedo and enter through my balcony doors, like a character from a spy romance. I want a night of intimacy and passion, to be worshipped and adored, to feel loved. I want the plot of a bodice ripper to come true for me._

“Merlin Almighty! Are you fucking serious?” 

Hermione turned her head to find Ginny reading over her shoulder, biting her lip in order to avoid laughing.

“I thought you were having your tea.”

“What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t read over your shoulder? I need to see this! And, I mean, seriously? Tuxedo? Intimacy and pa—”

“Yes, yes, alright. I’m very particular,” Hermione answered shortly, turning back to the screen. 

Ginny leaned back against the couch. “No wonder you’re bloody single,” she murmured into her tea.

“Shut up.”

“Love you, too.”

_I’m well aware this is all a farce but please ensure your acting skills are good enough in order to ensure my requests are carried out, thank you._

_As for avoiding certain areas, please make sure the baron is aware that my body is not a public convenience and I do not wish to be ‘relieved’ upon. And it is essential he has clean teeth, fresh breath, and clean nails._

_Thank you for choosing Soif de Vie. As promised, je veux te faire jouir. Your appointment is scheduled for Saturday, 6th February, at 8.00pm. To confirm, please press ‘send.’_

“Send,” Hermione exclaimed loudly as she hit the button on her keyboard. “Well, it’s done.”

“We need a drink to celebrate you getting the cobwebs cleared from your vagina,” Ginny laughed. “Where’s the whisky?”

“I’ll get it,” Hermione replied, standing up and turning away from the laptop, missing the message that flashed up on the screen.

_Your appointment has been set for Saturday, 6th February, at 8pm. Should you wish to amend/cancel, please click_ _here_ _within the next five minutes._

Glancing over her shoulder to find Hermione searching for whisky tumblers in her kitchen — you have to use the correct glasses for each drink, right? — Ginny gently closed the laptop and settled back into her seat.

* * *

**Back in the Office of the Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Level Five**

**The next morning**

Due to a situation in the Department of Mysteries, which could be anything from an Unspeakable losing an eye — it happens a lot — to the discovery of a new use for the hole in a Muggle Polo Mint, Draco was unable to check the online bookings for Soif de Vie so Blaise took it upon himself to have a look during his morning coffee break.

“Fucking hell!” he muttered when Draco’s name flashed up on the screen. “Fucking. Hell.”

Leaning forward, he stared at the text in front of him for a few moments. Who was this Eartha Bailiff? And what the fuck sort of name what that? 

Well, first thing to do was Google her and see whether he had to use one of his Charlotte Bailiwick charms. He was still unsure whether he was comfortable changing into his best mate, but at least Draco didn’t have far to go to obtain some hair for the Polyjuice.

His online search didn’t find anyone by the name of Eartha Bailiff. But _Wiccapedia_ immediately suggested a page relating to the definition of the word ‘bailiff’.

_The farm bailiff oversaw the collection of rent and taxes… blah, blah, blah..._

_Anglo-Norman title was grainger, from the Old French grangier… blah, blah, blah…_

_The English version of this title is Granger. At time of publishing, it is the 11,829th_ _most common surname in the world._

“Bene, bene,” Blaise whispered, lightly tapping his index finger on his keyboard as he contemplated what he’d just read. “Molto interessante.”

He began typing again, this time searching for the definition of the name ‘Hermione’. It was just a hunch, but the first line of the new page he’d opened up told him exactly what he suspected:

_The girl’s name Hermione is of Greek origin and means ‘messenger’ or ‘earthly’._

Eartha. Earthly. Hermione.

Bailiff. Grainger. Granger.

Hermione. Granger.

Bingo!

“Sei così intelligente, Granger,” Blaise laughed, sitting back in his chair. “Ma non intelligente abbastanza.” _You clever girl… but not clever enough._

“Darla!” He called out to his secretary, smirking to himself whilst he waited for the old dear to pop her head around his door. 

“Yes, Blaise?”

“Darla, two things. I need Dean Thomas in here _now_. And could you contact whoever it is you have to contact in the Department of Fuck Knows What Goes On Down There and make sure Draco meets us for lunch? It’s urgent.”

“Urgent?”

“Si. Very, very urgent.”

* * *

**Meanwhile in the offices of the Minister for Magic, Level One**

“Holy fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Hermione kept banging away at her keyboard, hitting every key possible to cancel her appointment. “Fuckity, _fuck, fuck!”_

“Are yeh alrigh’ there, Mione?” Seamus Finnigan, who just happened to be walking past, took Hermione’s outburst as an opportunity to walk around behind her desk and lean down beside her, his hand resting on the back of her chair. 

His breath smelled of sour cream and onion crisps. And something that smelled like cat food.

Hermione managed to click off the Soif de Vie website before he saw it, leaving a spreadsheet of toilet roll uses per department — organised by calendar month — on her screen.

“I’m fine, thank you, Seamus,” she replied politely. “My tab key got stuck, that’s all.”

“Are yeh shure I can’t help yeh?” he pressed. “I’m really good at fixin’ stuff, ya know.”

“It’s _fine,_ honestly. I’ll contact Dean,” Hermione answered quickly, wishing he’d move away. Her eyes were watering from trying to hold her breath and speak casually at the same time. “Have to go through the proper channels and all that.”

“Cool,” Seamus stood back, missing Hermione’s exhale of breath. “While I’m here, howz abou’ tha’ dinner? Yer always busy when I ask yeh.”

 _I’d rather get back with Ron._

“Well, you know me. Work. Work. Work.” _Pl_ _ease someone distract me. Please. Anyone._

“Hermione, I need you to attend a meeting for me this afternoon.” Kingsley Shacklebolt strode over, an air of authority instantly filling the small area around Hermione’s desk. “Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Finnigan. What are you doing here… again?”

“Just helpin’ Mione with her computer,” Seamus answered, making himself even more of a twat than he was. 

“ _Her_ mione knows to go through the proper channels and contact Mr. Thomas’ department directly,” Kingsley said. “If you don’t have any other business here, could you please return to whatever department you work in? And stay there?”

Seamus muttered something unintelligible as he walked away, his shoulders slumped. 

“Merlin, thank you, Kingsley,” Hermione sighed. “I keep forgetting to cast a charm to keep him away from here.”

“Not to worry. If he keeps sniffing around, I’ll have him transferred to Cardiff. Now, unfortunately, I really do need you to attend a meeting for me. We’ve a busy few days ahead.”

Hermione grabbed her wand and followed Kingsley back into his office, all thoughts of her Saturday appointment forgotten.

* * *

**The Ministry of Magic canteen a few hours later**

**In this scene, Blaise is having casu marzu, Pecorino cheese that’s so gone off he has to sit in a large bubble to eat it as the smell is highly repulsive to other diners. He decided to forgo the maggots that are usually served with the dish. Draco has selected steak haché avec pommes frites et sauce Béarnaise, and Dean is having a ham sandwich on white bread.**

“You’re joking!” Draco's hands were visibly shaking as he took in what Blaise and Dean were telling him. He put down his cutlery and stared at them both, so taken aback he completely forgot to dab his mouth with the linen napkin the canteen witches always kept for him. “Seriously? Are you both absolutely sure?”

“I checked her IP address,” Dean assured him.

“I’ve no idea what that means,” Draco admitted. 

“You don’t have to, mate,” Blaise said, his voice muffled from within his protective bubble. “Just know it was Granger’s address. Kirstie Alley, Kingston-Upon-Thames.”

“But what about the address on the booking form?”

“A cottage she has in Somerset. I was there for a party last year,” Dean replied. “Trust us, Malfoy. This is Hermione. No doubt about it.”

“And she wants me?”

“Si.”

“Yeah.”

“What do we do? What do I do?” Draco asked, bewildered. “I mean… _fuck_ … what do we do?”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Blaise answered. “First, you can roll me over to the canteen witches so they can get me out of this bubble, even I’m gagging from the smell of this cheese. Then we’ll go back to my office and you can have a look at the form for yourself. After that, it’s up to you. Can you join us, Dean?”

“No, I’ve got to get back downstairs. But I’ll catch up with you later.”

With that, he stood with Draco and they maneuvered Blaise over to one of the canteen staff who burst his bubble with a Ministry-approved pastry fork.

* * *

**Twenty minutes later**

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You haven’t spoken a single word for the past twenty minutes or so. Not since we left the canteen, Draco. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go to Hermione’s place and pretend to be me,” Draco began, pacing the floor in Blaise’s office. “I’m thinking this is probably my only opportunity to be with her, yet she won’t know it’s me. I’m thinking I’m going to love every minute of being with her because it’s all I’ve ever wanted, only to hate every minute because she’ll believe I’m really someone else. I’m thinking I can’t understand why she’s chosen me when she could have anyone else. Anyone! I’m think—”

“Fuck, mate, sit down before you fall down. And stop thinking. Here.”

Blaise opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of Odgen’s and two glasses.

“It’s just past lunch, and we’re working,” Draco argued. 

“Who cares?” Blaise said. “Suck a mint when you’re finished. This is serious, man.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “I know.”

“For what it’s worth, I had no intentions of going,” Blaise admitted. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I know how you feel about Granger. I’ve known as long as you have. So I have an idea.”

He passed a heavy-handed measure of scotch across his desk. 

“Go on Saturday night as this character she wants. Do all the things she wants… the romance, the spy novel routine… whatever the fuck that is. Do it all, exactly as a scene would play in a bodice ripper. And, before you ask, I had to ask Darla what that meant. She’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“And what happens when the night is over?” Draco asked. “Am I supposed to just go back to normal and forget it ever happened? Because that won’t work.”

“Of course it won’t work, idiota!” Blaise exclaimed. “On what planet did you think that would work? No, Draco. What you do next is start to meet Hermione around the Ministry corridors, get her to notice you more. She’ll be on a high from the best night of her life with Draco Malfoy—” he actually used air quotes here resulting in an eye roll from Draco “—and more inclined to fall at your feet.”

“But what if she’s not interested in me at all? And this is just some kind of sick joke? Or a bet she has with the Weaselette? Or—”

“Merlin! I’m telling you this will work,” Blaise cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “Now, go suck a mint, finish your… whatever the fuck you do, and go home to study up on bodice rippers, spy romances, and how you’re going to sweep Hermione Granger off her feet.”

“But—”

“You know Finnigan is still sniffing around her, right?”

“I’m going! I’m going!”


	3. In which Hermione loves cows, Blaise gets maternal, and Draco wouldn't make a good spy

**Hermione’s cottage in Wookey Hole, Somerset**

**Saturday evening, 6th February**

**One hour to go...**

With all that had happened since Kingsley called Hermione into his office on Thursday morning, she had completely forgotten about Saturday night. The past two days were spent in and out of different departments, meeting with heads, deputy heads, supervisors, advisors, undersecretaries, oversecretaries… The list was endless and the days even longer. She was scheduled to meet with Draco Malfoy at some stage but he was unavoidably detained and volunteered his sidekick, Dick Grayson, instead. Woman enough to admit she was disappointed not to be spending time with Draco, Hermione tried to put on a brave face and interact with Unspeakable Grayson but he was for the birds so, frustrated and exhausted, she’d cut the meeting short.

Stepping out of the bath, she magically dried her hair and spent the next few minutes rubbing a new body butter into her skin. An Argentinian Merlot was adjusting to room temperature beside the old fireplace in her bedroom, and Tilly Broome’s latest romance was sitting on the table beside her favourite armchair. With a blazing flame, a full-bodied red, a good book, and a gloriously luminescent moon shining through the sheer curtains, the evening was just what Hermione needed. 

Moments later, dressed in her favourite fleece pyjamas — the ones with the cow print — she was curled up with her book on her knee, and her wand directing the wine into a large glass.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, around the same time…**

Draco looked in the mirror for the umpteenth time, adjusted his cufflinks _again,_ and tried to drown out the sound of Blaise’s verbal checklist. 

“So you watched those James Bond movies I recommended?”

“Yes.”

“And avoided the ones I told you were shit?”

“Yes.”

“And did you see those Muggle chocolate adverts from the 1970s?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think?”

“I’m not paragliding in through her bloody window, Blaise!”

“I know that. I just want to make sure you get the general gist of all this spy romance stuff.”

“Okay, I’ve never worked for MI5, MI6, or the DMLE but I can read a good spy thriller. And I have dated before, you know.” 

“Pansy doesn’t count. She wouldn’t know romance if it jumped out of her Hermès Birkin. And don’t even mention that skinny money-grabbing bitch!”

“Ast—”

“Ah, ah! I said ‘don’t mention her’.”

“Fine.”

“What about those Muggle romance novels, Bills and Moon? Did you have a look at them?”

“Merlin, Blaise! I’ve only had three days!”

“That’s seventy-two hours, plenty of time. Now, did you get a chance to flick through those other books I mentioned? _Various Levels of a Neutral Colour_ by whatshername?”

“I didn’t have time so I flicked through the films.”

“Oooh! Bad move. Anyway, what about—”

“Blaise! I know what I’m doing!” Draco spun around, his face a mix of exasperation and panic. “Sort of.”

“Exactly, mate,” Blaise replied, walking towards his best friend. “You’re about to… well, let’s call a spade a spade and never admit this conversation took place. You’re about to make love to the woman you’ve been _in_ love with since school. You’re not going to shag her, you’re going to be with her in the most intimate way possible. I get you’re nervous considering this isn’t your average date. Even though you’ve shagged Pansy and the stick insect, this is every kind of different.”

“But she won’t know it’s me. And how the hell am I supposed to call her _Eartha?”_

“Make her believe it’s you. Make her think Draco Malfoy is really making love to her. Channel your inner Draco Malfoy — the decent bloke, not the prick from school. When I’m Potter, I’m the fucking Chosen One. When I’m Donald Trump, I’m orange right down to my tiny little knob, and I’m more of a diva than Celestina Warbeck could ever be. As for the name, once I had to do Marilyn Manson for a bloke named Theo. Too weird, right? I mean I love our Theo but I don’t want to be thinking of him during sex, so I called this bloke ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘my love’, that sort of thing. Worked out fine.”

“Did he call you Marilyn or Brian?”

“Yeah, still gets to me that Marilyn Manson’s real name is Brian. It’s fucking odd.”

Draco gave a quiet laugh as he cast a _Tempus_ charm. “I’d better go, mate.”

“You’ll be fine, Draco,” Blaise assured him, pulling him in for a bro hug and then straightening his bowtie like a mother. “In fact, you’ll do so well, you’ll be in Granger’s office first thing Monday morning to ask her out properly. Now, go!”

* * *

**And we’re back in Wookey Hole, at exactly 8pm**

**Children, it’s time for you all to go to bed. Mummies have to read something very, very important now. Off you go. Night night…**

**Right, ladies, let’s get those ‘we’re all reading smut’ faces on…**

Draco stood beneath the balcony of Hermione’s cottage and tried to gauge how far he’d have to throw the grappling hook for it to land on the balustrade and secure itself. There was no way he was climbing up the rope attached but at least the scene would appear authentic. 

He transfigured his wand into a stone and placed it on the window sill of the living room, threw the grappling hook up towards the balcony, and _Disapparated._

🎔

The clash of metals caused Hermione to jump from her seat, spilling wine over her cow print pyjamas, and drop her book to the floor. “What the—”

Looking through the sheer curtains it all came to her in a blinding flash of nausea. The glint of the metal hook, the rope strewn across the balcony, the blond man standing just outside her door, straightening his tuxedo with his back to her. 

“Oh, fuck!” she gasped, stepping away from the curtain, her hands gripping her loose hair as her eyes widened in shock. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

She dashed into the bathroom and shut the door, backing away from it as if Draco would try to knock it down. “Fuck. Fuckity fuck. What do I... Think, Hermione, think!” 

Whispering away to herself wasn’t exactly going to help but, in that moment, all of Hermione Granger’s intelligence abandoned her, leaving her with nothing to work with. She heard the balcony door opening — the fact it was originally locked not even registering with her — and mentally pictured where Draco was walking from the sound of his footsteps. Turning around in her bathroom in the blind hope of inspiration suddenly appearing before her, Hermione caught sight of a small replica of the three-legged stool she’d sat on when she was being Sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago. It now held her toilet rolls but, just then, it reminded her of the bravery she was known for. 

Mere feet away from her was the man she wanted with all her heart. Well, technically _not_ him… but fuck it, who cares? Potato, potahto. And, as Ginny had reminded her, at least she was guaranteed a shag. And that was well overdue.

“Right, Hermione,” she spoke to her reflection in the mirror over the sink, “big girl pants on. This is a one-time deal so make it a night to remember.”

Knowing the person on the other side of the door was magical, she quickly cast a spell to ensure whoever it was wouldn’t recognise her and, taking a deep breath, opened the door and stepped into her bedroom, completely forgetting all about her less-than-sensual attire.

🎔

Draco stood by the fireplace, Hermione’s wine in his hand. He took a long sip, watching her walk towards him over the rim of the glass. She was breathtaking… from the neck up. Her hair fell in waves of the warmest caramel, her eyes were dark and expressive, taking him in as she came closer. 

From the neck down was a different story. Wine stained baggy animal print pyjamas covered her body, hiding every dip and curve, making her look like the back of a pantomime horse. He tried not to choke on the liquid in his mouth, to concentrate on her face… her lips, her teeth biting into her bottom lip, the plump flesh begging to be sucked and licked. Yeah, that would do it. He’d keep looking at her face until he could rip those hideous bits of fabric off her and have her naked beneath him. 

“Draco,” Hermione breathed, playing her part with gusto. “You’re here.”

Without taking his eyes off hers — _don’t look down, mate, down look down_ — he placed her wine glass on the mantelpiece and took her in his arms. 

“Did you doubt me, darling? I promised you I’d be here.” He lowered his head to her neck, pushing through her hair to inhale the feminine scents of her bathing products — rose, gardenia, peony. Making love to her body would feel like lying in a meadow of Hermione’s skin. 

“Was the mission dangerous?” Now that she was in the midst of this fantasy scenario, she had no idea what to say and was grasping at straws. Somehow she thought being a romance novel heroine would be easier than this.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” His breath warmed her skin as he whispered, “The thought of not making it back to you never crossed my mind.”

Oh, he was good. He was far too good at this.

Hermione tilted her head further, sighing as the caress of Draco’s lips continued their exploration of her face, searching for her lips, chasing their dream. Both of them moaned softly, searching in synchronicity, outlining body shapes and curves. Even though, objectively speaking, she knew this wasn’t _really_ Draco Malfoy, he kissed divinely, and she lost herself in the passion of his lips and tongue.

Hermione slid her hands up along the labels of his tuxedo, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles before slipping her fingers beneath the material to slide the jacket off his shoulders. Draco pulled back, his gaze following her fingers as they travelled across his collar bones, and began to pull at his bowtie.

“I’ve missed you, Draco,” she murmured. It was all part of the act but, in that moment, she meant so much more. I’ve missed you this week when we couldn’t meet up and I had to deal with your imbecilic assistant; I’ve missed you since you’ve started to work longer hours in the Department of Mysteries and we don’t meet in the corridors by chance anymore; I’ve missed you since we’ve left school and I don’t see you every day like I used to; I’ve missed you in my life; I’ve missed you.

“You’re all I could think about, darling.” Every day, Hermione, I think of you from the moment I wake up. I find myself thinking about how you are, what you’re doing, are you thinking of me? I think about what we could be like together, how perfect we’d be… if I didn’t have a past that hangs over us like a dark cloud. I think of what it would be like to tell you I love you and hear you say it back. You’re all I think about. All the time. 

Draco’s bowtie flittered to the floor, joining his discarded jacket. Hermione reached for his hands to remove his cufflinks but was stopped by Draco’s whisper, “Give me your lips.”

She reached up on her toes as his hands gripped her cheeks, holding her as their embrace began as a tender caress of warmth. Within seconds their lips were frantic, tongues searching, breath mingling, the tension in the air electric.

Time stood still, passed quickly, ceased to exist. The world around them disappeared as they touched. Neither could hold the other closer, hands pulled, arms tightened… they moved as one.

Eventually, they parted, both panting with desire. Draco fought to stop himself from throwing caution to the wind and revealing himself to Hermione. He wasn’t even twenty minutes in her company, how the fuck was he going to last the evening? He choked out the first syllable of her name as she said, “I need you, Draco.”

He took a breath. “My darling, I’ve dreamt of having you in my arms…” 

Had he read the line in one of his favourite books, he would have thought it dreadfully silly and sentimental, and though he thought her fantasy was more than a little bit over the top, somehow saying these words felt so very right.

“Make love to me,” she  whispered, and he was struck by the look of breathless desire on her face.

“As you wish.”

He couldn’t ruin this, couldn’t let her know who he was. He didn’t want to know why she’d asked for him yet inside he was screaming to find out. But, what if this was only one night? What if he ruined the chance of having her as his, even for a few hours? 

“Hey.” Hermione’s hand touched his cheek. “Are you… are you alright?” 

She was suddenly dragged back to the present when the guy pretending to be Draco Malfoy stopped touching her and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. 

Blinking, he didn’t even realise what he’d done. Fuck! Damage control. Stat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied gently, covering her hand with his own. “I don’t want to rush this… but you already have me captivated.”

“How long do we—”

“I’m here for as long as you want, darling. I want to make this night last forever.”

“You’re certainly saying all the right things.” _T _h_ ings I’ve always wanted to hear. Things the real Draco Malfoy would never say to someone like me._

“To you, I’ll only tell the truth.”

“Draco…”

“Ssh.” A slender finger tapped her lips. “No more talking. Take off your clothes… let me see you.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed as she stepped back and began to unbutton her pyjama top. Dropping it to the floor, she stepped out of her bottoms and stood before Draco in a sheer bra and matching panties, the pastel shade blending with her skin tone, revealing her softness to his gaze. She was silently thankful that even though this had started with the embarrassment of her in cow pyjamas that at least she was wearing decent lingerie underneath it. 

“So pure,” he whispered, placing his cufflinks on the table beside Hermione’s book. “So perfect.”

“I’m scarred,” she admitted, pointing to Dolohov’s mark.

Draco swallowed, knowing exactly where her injury came from and hating himself just a little bit more. “Scars make us even more individual… survivors. It means that you’re strong. Your strength makes you beautiful to me.”

They stared at each other, the pretense of an escort and client seeping away into the flames beside them. 

“Undress me,” he said, changing the subject quickly. “I need to feel your skin against mine.”

Hermione stepped closer, falling to her knees. He gripped the mantlepiece for support whilst she lifted each foot to free them from his shoes and socks. Straightening herself, she then concentrated on his belt, pulling it slowly around his waist and letting it go. Draco watched each movement, captivated by her in every way. 

The flames coloured her skin, highlighted her hair, sparkled in her eyes. Even her nail varnish caught her attention, the Gryffindor scarlet a heavy contrast to each inch of pale skin she revealed as she pulled at his dress shirt and began to open it from the bottom up. 

He pulled her up quickly. “Need your lips,” he muttered, not giving her a chance to respond. Their second kiss was just as heated, each knowing they were closer to touching, closer to exploring each other with no barrier between. Hermione reached the final button of his shirt and wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck as he shook the material away from his skin. Pulling her closer they both gasped as their bodies touched. And yet they still weren’t done. 

“Touch me,” Hermione breathed. “Please… touch me.”

She felt the flick of her bra open and the subsequent caress of Draco’s fingertips down her spine, causing a shiver that vibrated through her entire body. Keeping her close, those magical fingers slid to her hips, continuing on to her thighs, taking her panties with them. As Hermione’s legs narrowed, the lace slipped to her feet and she stepped out of them. 

“Even for the moment it will take for you to be completely bared to me,” Draco began, “I don’t want to let you go. The feel of you against me is pure heaven, darling.”

She slipped her hands from his neck and let her bra straps fall down her arms, taking the opportunity to open the placket of his trousers and push them down his legs. Their attraction to each other was evident, the air heady with their bodies’ arousal. 

“Draco…” Hermione breathed, stepping back despite his need for her to remain against him. “Mer...my God, you’re breathtaking.” She took him in, tracing the thin white line that transversed his torso. “You’re scarred, too.”

“We’re more alike than you think,” he replied, kicking the trousers away, his eyes not leaving hers. “Finish what you started, beautiful.”

Tight boxers covered Draco’s thick length, a dark stain marring the navy silk, betraying his desperation to remain calm. 

“What's this?” she pointed out, tracing a fingernail over the damp patch. “Do you want me that much?”

“More than you know,” he admitted. “If I was to touch you now, what would I discover?”

“That I want you just as badly.”

Draco released himself and held his cock in his hand, pulling it to ease the pressure building within him. He moaned and closed his eyes. 

Hermione’s soft hand gently pushed his away. She turned her body around and took him in her grasp, pushing back against his solid form. His hips began to rotate behind her as she stroked him, her own moving in time when he drew his other hand around her body and guided it to her core. 

They pleasured each other in the light of the flames, Hermione’s head on his shoulder, his lips on her neck. 

“Draco… don’t stop.”

“Never, sweetheart.”

His middle finger teased her clit, gliding through her wetness, back up to circle her bud again. Each time he dipped down to the cream seeping from her core, his other fingers spread out to gather the moisture on his skin. He wanted it to seep through his pores, to flow through his bloodstream. He needed her essence like a drug. 

“You are so perfect,” he whispered, his breath mingling with hers as she turned her head to kiss him. Their lips moved over each other’s, allowing them to still speak, just the two of them lost in their own world. 

“Draco…”

“Let me go,” he demanded, his free arm wrapping around her trembling body. “Let me take care of you. Just relax, baby.”

Hermione released his cock. She couldn’t concentrate on stroking him, she could hardly remember her own name. Draco already had her in a state of need and desperation. She briefly wondered how she’d make it through however long he’d stay. 

“You feel divine,” he continued. “Your lips were made to kiss mine. Your body is practically weeping for me.”

His voice alone was doing things to Hermione’s mind. She was lost to the sensations he was causing, to the desperation for him that crawled on her skin and flowed from her core. 

“I… I’m…”

“I know, I can feel it. Let it go, my darling. I’ll catch you.”

His words were enough; the terms of endearment he was using were soaking her body, hardening her nipples, making her pant for him. Her muscles trembled as her body gave in to his encouragement, bringing Hermione along on a crash course of pure pleasure. Her orgasm came in waves, ebbing and flowing, hard and soft, strong yet tender. She cried out and grasped at the arm that held her up, her knees buckling under the weight of the feelings igniting every nerve. 

Draco moved with her as she collapsed to the floor, supporting her weight as he promised. He lay her out on the rug in front of the fireplace, smiling down at her with such devotion her breath caught. 

_He doesn’t look like he’s acting… this is so intimate… so personal…_

“You look like a goddess when you come,” he remarked. “My own erotic image that I could stare at for eternity. I want to watch you lose yourself like that again and again.”

“Draco… I…”

“Relax,” he said quietly, pulling her to him. “Just enjoy my touch.”

He leaned over her body, tracing the patterns of his fingertips with his lips. Over and over he teased and caressed until the night was filled with Hermione's moans. She came again from the attention he gave her nipples and breasts, the sensitivity of her soft flesh becoming more and more electric. Her desire flowed through her, covering Draco’s tongue, feeding him the energy he craved as the evening continued. 

“You taste like ambrosia,” he murmured against her folds, licking and biting her plump flesh as she writhed on the floor. “I only need this to survive; I only need your body.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The touch of this man, his taste, his sheer presence… she needed him in her life. She was in love with Draco Malfoy — had been for years — but whoever this was in Draco’s skin was igniting physical feelings she’d either long forgotten or never experienced before. He was pure talent and eroticism in the disguise of the man who haunted her dreams. She was torn… her constantly active mind trying to claw its way through her burning defences. 

Slowly Draco kissed back up Hermione’s body, his erection pressing against her entrance as their lips brushed against each other’s. “Let me take you to bed,” he coaxed. “If I could I’d lie you down on a blanket of the softest fur, let it caress the parts of your skin I can’t reach because I can’t touch every part of you all at once. And that, beautiful, is something I’d give anything to do.”

“Will my duvet suffice?” Hermione grinned, her focus back on the grey eyes that held her full attention. “If it’s any consolation, it is feather and down.”

Draco’s soft laugh caused even the butterflies in her stomach to orgasm. This man would be the death of her before their time was through. He leaned back onto his knees, taking her with him until she was sitting in his lap with her legs wrapped around him. He was so close to her core, his length pulsing against her, torturing her folds, torturing her. 

“Hold on, my darling,” Draco said, standing up effortlessly. “I love you in my arms.”

Hermione laid her head on his shoulder and held him close. “Please let me touch you, Draco,” she murmured against his neck. “I need to make you feel just as much as I do.”

Gently he set her in the middle of the bed and lay on his side, gazing down at her face, one hand holding his head up, the other trailing a blazing heat from her neck to her core. “Oh, my darling, I’m here for you. I don’t need you to—”

“I want to,” Hermione interrupted. “I want to taste you, make you fall over the edge.”

“I only want to fall over that edge when we’re together,” he replied, continuing his caresses. “When I’m so far inside of you, we’re one.”

They stared at each other, their hearts beating rapidly, their faces moving closer and closer…

Draco breathed against her lips, his eyes closed. “Hermione.”


	4. In which the author highly recommends Argentinian Merlot

**Okay, okay, comedy’s over. It’s all getting a bit serious…**

“What… what did you say?” Hermione gasped, her eyes wide in shock. 

Draco paused, the blood running like ice through his veins. He’d fucked it all up. One word and his heart was shattering to pieces. 

One fucking word.

“I—” He sat back, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Shit, I—”

Hermione was off the bed and grabbing her discarded pyjamas before he could stutter another word. Realising she’d been wearing the cow print ones with a massive wine stain on the front, she lost control, mostly from embarrassment. Sparks of pure adrenaline radiated from her body, causing the flames in the fireplace to burn with a vibrant intensity, and the air to crackle and nip at Draco’s skin. 

“Darling,” he began, reaching for her. “Please—”

“Who are you?” she asked, covering her nakedness with her stained pyjama top.

“What do you mean? You know—”

“You’re not an escort… you’re not from that fucking agency, are you?” She was visibly shaking with anger, disappointment, absolute panic. The feelings rolled through her all at once. “You’re Draco Malfoy. The real one.”

“I—”

“Yes!” Hermione cried, taking a step back as Draco jumped off the bed to reach her. “Yes, you are.” Her hands shook as she tried to make sense of how the evening had taken such a dramatic turn. “I cast a spell to make sure whoever you were supposed to be wouldn’t recognise me…”

“If you...”

“... but it was worded in such a way that the person had to be under the influence of a spell themselves.”

“... let me…”

“ It was a spell I devised for…”

“Please…”

“... oh, _fuck it_ , doesn’t matter. But how in hell would you know my name otherwise?” She spoke so quickly, the words rushing from her as her heart pounded in her chest. “Say my name.”

“Merlin, if you just let me—”

“Say my name!” she shouted, backing further away towards the fireplace. Her hair began to rise from her shoulders, a halo of pure energy around her head. “Say it!”

Draco’s lips began to form the shape of the name she’d put on the application form. As if in slow motion, she watched as the first syllable of the fabricated word reached her. 

“NO!” This time her scream was loud enough to crack her voice. “Say it! Say my fucking name!”

Silence spread around them as Draco looked torn. Ignoring the fact he was still naked —  and despite the current situation,  _ still _ sporting a rather impressive erection —  he sat heavily in Hermione’s armchair and put his head in his hands. 

“You’re Hermione Granger,” he admitted, his voice low. “You’re the Brightest Witch of your Age, senior advisor to the Minister of Magic and tipped to become his successor when he retires, and the woman I’ve made a fucking fool of myself for.” He looked up, sighing in defeat, his eyes shining with emotion. “You’re Hermione Granger.”

Hermione stumbled, lowering herself to the floor as her legs threatened to give out. She still clutched her top to her body, like a security blanket that would keep her safe. His words had crashed through her. None of this made sense, and she needed to understand.

“And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy. Unspeakable. Son of an arsehole. Failed Death Eater. Destined to live with my fucking stupidity for the rest of my days.”

He looked back down to the floor, glancing at his discarded trousers. “If you give me a few minutes, I’ll get dress—”

“No.” Her abrupt answer came as a shock to them both. “I mean, stay. I need you to explain what’s going on.”

Draco took a moment to search her face, looking for the truth behind her words. He slowly nodded. “If I may call my wand? I left it outside.”

“Of course,” Hermione replied politely. “And I think we should dress.”

She looked down at the pyjama top in her hands and cringed at the realisation that she was still holding wine-stained cow-print pyjamas, and the real Draco Malfoy had seen her in them. She blushed profusely as she used her own wand to transfigure her stained pyjamas into a short white waffle robe and tied it around her while Draco walked over to the door. Opening it and gripping his wand tightly as it flew into his hand, he transfigured his evening wear into jeans and a grey tee. 

They resumed their seating arrangements in silence and stared at each other. 

“I think we need some alcohol for this,” Hermione said after a few moments. “Would you like some wine?”

“I think I’d drink surgical spirits at this stage,” Draco admitted. “Out of an old shoe.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh out loud, her mirth calming the atmosphere instantly. 

Draco smiled, chuckling quietly in comparison as he watched Hermione wipe her eyes. He wanted to comment how beautiful she was when she laughed, a thought he had regularly when he observed her interacting with colleagues in the Ministry, but his voice failed him. He’d done enough damage already. 

Hermione took a deep breath. “Merlin, I needed that laugh, thank you,” she said, conjuring a second wine glass and filling both with generous amounts of Merlot before passing him a glass. 

“Try not to spill that one on your robe,” he blurted, before he could stop himself. 

She stared at him for a moment, and he wanted to smack himself for putting his foot in his mouth.

“I just meant, you know, because you had wine on your, ah, pyjamas,” he offered lamely, gesturing at the transfigured robe.

“You startled me!” she insisted. “All of the sudden there was a man in a tuxedo on my balcony!” 

“You’re the one who booked it! You even asked for the whole Muggle spy bodice-ripper person!” 

“Yes, well, I…” she paused, mid-argument. “I was going to cancel. I wasn’t going to actually go through with it, and then everything went to shit at work, and... oh, my God… you can’t really think I _planned_ to have you show up when I was dressed like that, did you?”

A bit of a blush coloured his cheeks. “I skimmed a lot of novels and films, and I wasn’t sure if I’d missed some important detail about your outfit.”

She buried her head in her hands, torn between mortification and laughter at the idea that she would have planned a romance novel-worthy seduction that involved the unsexiest pyjamas ever.

When she looked up, he was still seated in the chair, nervously clutching his own wine glass as he watched her.

“I… eh... guess you have some explaining to do.” 

“Yeah.”

“And maybe I do, too.”

Draco shook his head. “No, this is all on me.”

“It’s not,” Hermione corrected him. “But let’s not get into that. You start, I’ll finish. And we’ll drink in between. Deal?”

A wave of relief washed over Draco. Hermione had calmed somewhat, ready to hear him out. He was in no way relaxed — although the wine would help — but maybe they could come out of this amicably. 

Hopefully.

“Where to start,” he began, following a long drink. “Blaise came to me three years ago with an idea…”

* * *

**I highly recommend an Argentinian Merlot for those nights when you’re facing the guy you’re madly in love with, wondering why he was pretending to be himself, and listening to him explain which James Bond movie is his favourite.**

“I guess it’s a toss up between Live and Let Die and Casino Royale, the newer version,” Draco admitted, after telling Hermione the entire story of Baron La Croix and the lengths he’d had to go to in order to retrieve some Muggles’ hair for Blaise. The climb from Base Camp to Advanced Base Camp during a snowstorm on Mount Everest was the worst — Apparition being far too dangerous because of the weather.

Hermione asked a number of questions in return, impressed with Blaise’s idea but still slightly weirded out by it. Who wouldn’t be, right?

“Yeah, I do like Daniel Craig in the role,” she agreed, summoning a second bottle of wine and pouring it for both of them. She couldn’t care less about letting it breathe at this stage. “And I love the scene in Live and Let Die with the crocodiles. But I’m still a Skyfall girl.”

Draco smiled, the wine had calmed him somewhat, and the fact that Hermione hadn’t thrown him out yet certainly was helping. He was still sitting in her chair and she’d remained on the floor, the heat from the fire comforting them both as they continued their conversation. 

“I have one final question,” she continued. 

“I would be surprised if you didn’t,” he laughed. “It’s a hell of a strange tale.”

“Blaise is involved so maybe not _that_ strange,” she remarked, grinning. “I’d like to know why you insisted on coming tonight. Why did you not just give Blaise some of your hair?”

For a moment Draco was tempted to tell her he hadn’t come but decided she may not find his comment amusing. Fuck, _he_ didn’t find it amusing. The whole situation was fucked.

He didn’t answer straight away. This was the moment to tell the truth, to let her know how he felt about her. But he didn’t possess her courage, and the words stuck in his throat. “I… I couldn’t… I…”

Hermione felt his discomfort, could see it in his eyes. He hadn’t asked her why she’d put his name on the application form but maybe now was the time to explain. She’d told him she’d talk after he did anyway. 

Setting her glass down, she scooched over to the armchair and sat up on her knees, looking directly at Draco as he internally struggled with his answer. “How about I explain why I chose you on the application form?”

He nodded, calmed by the warmth of her smile, the gentleness of her gaze.

“We’ve been friendly since we finished eighth year, and we always get on well when we have to work together. But… when we were in school, after everything that happened, I saw a different side to you, Draco. I saw _you_ , the boy we never got a chance to meet because of your upbringing, the pressure you were put under by your father, Voldemort… all those things that kept you from being the Draco you should have been. Over the years you shed all those layers of pain and became the man you are today — the one who would debate with me in the library until Pince kicked us out, or makes me laugh at work when that assistant of yours does something stupid. I found myself liking you more and more and, when you began to date Astoria, I realised I didn’t just like you anymore.”

Hermione stopped talking and looked down at her hands, noticing for the first time that she’d placed them on Draco’s knees. She went to move them away, feeling awkward for being so forward — completely forgetting just how close they’d been only an hour before — but he stopped her, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly. 

“Keeping talking,” he pressed. 

“I realised how I felt when I saw you with her.”

“How did you feel?”

“I… I hated it.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to be her. I wanted to be in her place.”

Draco studied her expression, noticing how vulnerable she looked. Letting her hands go, he moved to sit at the very edge of the armchair and took Hermione’s face in her hands.

“What if I told you that I felt the same way when I watched you with Krum? Or Weasley? Or that bloke from Ravenclaw—”

“Terry Boot.”

“Yeah, him. And what possessed you to go out with McClaggan?”

“How come you know about everyone I’ve gone out with?”

“Because I wanted to be in Krum’s place, nevermind the others.”

Silence followed his admission and she thought her heart might explode from her chest. Draco’s thumbs caressed Hermione’s cheeks and he slowly dipped his head to lay his forehead against hers. His eyes closed as he gave her his heart.

“I fell in love with you when I was still the boy you hated. I think, even if we never became friendly and we married other people, that part of me would always be in love with you, Hermione.”

He felt the tips of his thumbs grow damp from her tears. Opening his eyes, Draco realised that they were tears of joy, matched in their beauty by her radiant smile. 

“I couldn’t bear the thoughts of Blaise touching you. I thought, if I only had tonight, that I could… that I could have you. Just once. And maybe it would be enough to see me through my life.”

“And will it be enough?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

“It will never be enough,” she replied. “I’ll never stop wanting you, Draco. I love you too much.”

“And I love you, Hermione.”

She couldn’t have said who moved first, all she knew was that the man of her dreams had just uttered the most beautiful words she’d ever heard, and then his lips were on hers, and it was better than any romantic scene she’d ever read in a book or ever could have conjured in her mind.

Their kiss was just as passionate as the ones they’d shared earlier in the evening but now there were no hidden agendas, no secrets. Now there was only truth. And it promised them everything. 

“Do you think we could continue where we left off?” Draco asked after a few minutes, reluctantly pulling away from Hermione’s embrace but anxious to return to what they were doing before he almost fucked everything up. 

“I know we were both naked,” Hermione said, standing up. She turned towards the bed, opening her robe on the way, and letting it fall to the floor. “I’m ready.”

This time Draco vanished his clothes as he followed her, the two of them in each other’s arms on the bed within moments. 

“I want you so much.”

“Do you think you could call me darling, again? I loved hearing it.”

He laughed, returning his lips to her skin. “I only did that because I couldn’t stand the thoughts of calling you  _ Eartha _ —”  She giggled both at his obvious disgust over her fake name and at the way his lips tickled her neck “—but  I’ll call you whatever you want, my love.”

“Hmmm, I think I like that better.”

Draco continued to kiss Hermione’s neck, her breasts, her stomach. He couldn’t get enough of her soft skin, she was like a new addiction. One he didn’t mind having. 

“I could spend hours just gazing at your body,” he murmured, “touching you, memorising your scent, finding out something new about it every time I look. You’re like my favourite book… I want to read the story your body tells me.”

Hermione moaned, stretching beneath him, her body aching for more. “What does it tell you?” she gasped, bucking when his fingers slipped inside her. 

“It tells me you’re a survivor, that your scars prove you’re a warrior. Your smooth and pampered skin tells me you like to feel feminine and attractive. The way you’re moving your hips in circles, thrusting into my hand, tells me you’re aching for more of my touch. Your body tells me you want me. From the goosebumps that rise when my fingers trail across your skin to the fact you’re dripping for me.” He pulled his fingers from her and raised them to his lips. “Your taste tells me your body is desperate to be joined with mine. Have I missed anything, darling?”

“No, Draco,” Hermione panted, her hands reaching for him. “Please make love to me, please… I need you.”

“Shall I cast—”

“It’s okay, I did it—”

She didn’t get to finish. Draco moved quickly, slipping his length easily into her waiting core, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and moulding their bodies together. They were, as he promised, like one, savouring the feeling of being united after all the time loving each other from a distance. Their breaths were the only sounds they heard, their words of love, their promises… 

Their gentle movements were quickly replaced by frantic thrusts, Hermione crying out as she came, her body on fire from Draco’s constant invasion. He was relentless, his desperation for her evident in his rotating hips and searching hands. He wanted to shout to the world that Hermione Granger was solely responsible for making him feel so alive, that he was going to come because her naked body was beneath him, and he was buried deep inside her. He wanted to tell everyone she was his and, in that moment he knew, he would never let her go. 

His orgasm roared through him, a lifeforce of its own. He shook as his body pulsed wave after wave of life-giving energy, filling Hermione’s womb, bringing her to her own release. His lips crashed to hers, taking her scream into his soul, needing her breath to keep going, to make it through the next few seconds, days, years. He needed her. Always.

🎔

Later, while she slept, Draco lay on his side, watching Hermione’s body rise and fall in slumber. He thought about the circumstances that had brought him to that moment — Blaise’s ‘lust for life’, his desire to feel alive, his ridiculous idea that had become such a success. Draco considered his best mate had thought up such an appropriate name. Even though Baron La Croix was the Voodoo spirit of sexuality — a gift Draco and Hermione were going to explore in intimate detail — he was also the spirit of the dead. But, to Draco, that meant the death of his old life, his years of torture and misery, his years of living without Hermione Granger knowing how he felt about her. 

And now she did. 

She was his favourite book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!


End file.
